


Overflow

by shiverelectric



Series: Shiver's Sherlock Ficlets [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual exclusive masturbation, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:17:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiverelectric/pseuds/shiverelectric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suffice to say that while John became quite keen at rationalisation, the body was not as easily swayed as the mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overflow

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](http://bennyslegs.tumblr.com/post/75430613932/john-getting-so-worked-up-after-a-case-and-running) by bennyslegs.

If John were to be completely frank with himself, he would admit it was the eyes that did it. The way they could cut a crime scene down to its smallest components and scour them for clues, turning to him with that gleam he gets when it all comes together. John may not understand what went through that big brain at those moments, but the fact that Sherlock would share those moments with him as if he did always sent a frisson of excitement up his spine and spread warmth through his core.

And while John wasn't one to lie to himself, he _wasn't_ , he tended to sidestep the issue, because of course, chasing criminals down narrow alleyways with six foot of consulting detective nipping at your heels to _"Go faster, John, we're going to lose him!"_ was naturally going to raise one's adrenal response, and of _course_ after capturing their suspect the increased blood flow would lead to a purely physiological response, _of course_.

Suffice to say that while John became quite keen at rationalisation, the body was not as easily swayed as the mind.

So once the cab pulled along the kerb at 221B John was out like a shot, leaving only a fistful of bills behind to pay for the ride, effectively preempting Sherlock into the flat with a shout of _"Sorry, need the loo."_

His heart pounded as the door closed behind him and he took the care to lock it, because it just wouldn't do to be barged in on (Sherlock had no concept of personal space much less personal time) and just like that, the thoughts of that mad man ( _his_ mad man, with those eyes that saw right through everything, could they see through him just as easily tonight?) ignited the sparks that gathered all night. John wasted no further time, flicking open the button on his trousers and working the fly down, pants pushed just enough out of the way for him to work a hand hard and fast around himself.

He huffed out a breath in relief, but still gritted his teeth as he gripped the sink's edge with his free hand. It was enough, too much, nowhere near satisfactory, but he didn't stop, couldn't. Just, Sherlock was always so untouchable, wasn't he? Beyond everyone else in terms of intelligence, he was so _bloody_ _brilliant_ , and the way he lit up from within when he had the chance to show it off, transforming his usually harsh face into the very meaning of transcendent... beauty. But beyond them all as Sherlock was, he would include John, beckon him to apply himself, join in the never-ending game and be victorious beside him. 

And that was it, wasn't it? That John alone would somehow be the one Sherlock would let in, let touch him whether to patch him up or hold him back from rushing out. That he could be an anchor for Sherlock. The thought sent John skyward, fist speeding up and down on his cock, his mad man's name falling from his mouth as his body exploded into stars.

...Distantly John realised he'd made quite a mess all over the sink, but as he came back to himself he found it hard to care overly much. That is until he opened his eyes to the evidence, written not only in the cooling ejaculate on the porcelain but his wet fingers, softened prick hanging free, heaving chest, reddened face, _everything_. He may have as well shouted from the top of Baker Street itself that he'd just masturbated to thoughts of his male flatmate, but then he recalled that he'd foolishly practically did so when he came and Sherlock's name spilled from his lips.

Flushing from the awareness that the world's most observant man was somewhere just on the other side of the door and possibly heard, well, _everything_ , John girded himself for the aftermath. He washed his hands and sink clean, set his pants and trousers to rights, and as a last Hail Mary to deception, flushed the toilet.

Opening the door and entering the hall, John was relieved to find the kitchen empty. Thankful for small miracles, he ventured into the front room, where he spied Sherlock lying peaceably upon the sofa, gaze already fixated upon him. Mindful of their usual after case routines, John cleared his throat and offered to make tea and order takeaway, falling into their usual patterns like a defensive trench. Sherlock simply stared for a moment longer before nodding his agreement. 

Slipping back into the kitchen to switch on the kettle, John missed Sherlock minutely adjusting his position before sitting fully upright, a slight grimace on his own similarly flushed face. As always, John had seen but not observed, but that was fine by Sherlock. He licked his thumb, remnants of moments before lingering on his skin and getting tacky elsewhere, before calling out to John that he might have a bit of a wash-up in the meantime.


End file.
